Getting Dirty, Coming Clean
by CitiKitti
Summary: There's mud. And there's boytouching. Quite a bit of both, really. Maraudersera, so no spoilers.


**Title:** Getting Dirty, Coming Clean**  
Author:** CitiKitti

**Summary: **There's mud. And there's boytouching. And there's some oral sex..**  
Spoilers:** Marauders-era, so spoiler-free.  
**Rating: MA**

**Disclaimer: **Not my characters. Never were, never will be. Damn.**  
Originally posted**: On LiveJournal, specifically my HP journal, fullmoonfic.

**Notes:** Thanks & cookies to preraphaelite1 for the beta, and also to brak4werewolves for her input! About 2000+ words. Also, I wrote this sometime last spring. I thought I'd posted it already, but apparently not!  
**Feedback:** is the nectar of the gods.

**Getting Dirty, Coming Clean**

There's mud everywhere. It's in his hair, in his ears, deep under his fingernails. His clothes, discarded in a filthy, wet heap in the corner of the bathroom, are absolutely caked with it. The house-elves will take the clothes anyway without so much as a disgruntled murmur, though likely they will wonder what he must have been doing in them.

The shower, less scalding now, has sluiced most of the mud from his skin into a brown-tinged, sludgy puddle around his feet. Sirius grimaces at it, wondering if he'll ever feel truly clean again, then reaches for the shampoo to lather up his hair for a second time.

It had seemed like such a good idea at the time, tug-of-war by the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The chill of winter was really behind them now, chased far away by spring rains and warm breezes til it seemed little more than a shivery memory. Spring makes you crazy, Sirius thinks as he scrubs and scrubs at the mud, his skin turning pink both from the scouring and the steam. Spring makes people irrational, makes you think of things to do that no sane person could or would, and how in Merlin's name did mud get under his _balls_?

It was the laughing that starts it, Remus laughing at him when James scoops up a handful of snow – more mud and last autumn's dead leaves than snow, really – and shoves it hard down the back of Sirius' jumper. And Remus starts laughing so hard at Sirius' indignation and resultant expletives that he has to lean up against a tree to steady himself.

"Yeah?" Sirius yells, whirling around to face Remus. Behind his back, James takes the opportunity to escape. "Yeah, Moony? You think that's funny, do you? Think that's sodding hilarious?"

"Yeah," Remus agrees, eyes sparkling with mischief. "I do."

Remus' cloak is hanging over a nearby shrub, and they both make a grab for it. This is what starts the tug-of-war in earnest, each of them pulling on an armful of cloak. But Sirius underestimates Remus' innate strength, and it only takes about thirty seconds for Sirius to find himself sprawled facedown in a muddy, wet hollow. Spitting mud and bits of dead leaves out of his mouth, Sirius yanks down on the cloak, throwing Remus off-balance so that he topples into the mud too, landing haphazardly atop Sirius.

With a deft roll and a twist, Sirius knocks Remus backwards into the puddle, flinging himself across the other boy to keep him still. Sirius grabs up a handful of mud, fully intent on plastering it across Remus' laughing face – except that Remus isn't laughing anymore.

Instead he is watching Sirius with a gleam in his eyes, a strange, otherworldly gleam that makes Sirius shiver in the most awkward of places – places that are generally only awkward when you are lying atop another person, especially one who is watching you and apparently waiting for you to say something.

"Erm," says Sirius, and then Remus _nudges_ him, his hips angling subtly upwards so that it becomes patently obvious that Sirius is not the only one whose trousers have suddenly grown uncomfortably tight. Then, _oh_, Remus' mouth is on his, devouring him. Remus' tongue is in his mouth and Sirius is kissing him back hungrily, his hands scrabbling at Remus' jumper, aching to get at the skin underneath.. Finally he just yanks the jumper up in frustration, rucking it up under Remus' armpits, pulling away from Remus' mouth and moving down to kiss the exposed skin of his belly, startlingly white against the backdrop of mud. With one hand he cups Remus' prick through his trousers, just resting it there til Remus gasps, arching upwards, a throaty _please, Sirius, please_ escaping his mouth. Sirius groans, tugging at the trouser buttons until finally they give way, then slides his mouth down atop the ridge tenting Remus' y-fronts. He laps at Remus, licks diligently at the salty bead of moisture blooming through the cloth, so lost in amazement at his own daring that he doesn't hear Remus' mutters of _more_ and _don't stop_ and _wanna touch you too_.

What Sirius does, though, is climb back up til he's awkwardly straddling Remus, knees slipping in the mud while he fumbles at his own buttons. Under his trousers he's bare, which makes Remus chuckle and say _I knew you for the al fresco type_, but he doesn't care what Remus thinks or says right now because he's just too wound up and desperate with sheer, unadulterated want. He rocks hard against Remus, rubbing his prick against Remus' y-fronts, mindless of anything but damp, muddy fabric and the fact that Remus' legs are clamped around him, holding him in place as they grind frantically against each other in the mud.

It's over far too soon, Sirius biting into Remus' shoulder as he comes with a shout, Remus shuddering and bucking beneath him. Sirius rolls off him, landing on his back in the mud, letting the world come slowly back into focus. After a few minutes it gradually occurs to him that he's lying in a cold, clammy puddle of mud with his trousers around his ankles, and there is mud sticking uncomfortably to him in places where mud should never stick – and that Remus is lying next to him, just as sticky and muddy and breathless.

"Sirius-" Remus begins.

Sirius scrambles to his feet, hauling up his trousers and buttoning them frantically. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he says, aware that he's babbling now and utterly unable to stop. "I won't tell, I won't, I promise. Just don't hate me, alright? Just don't hate me." And with one last terrified, pleading glance at Remus, he races off to the castle where it's warm and dry and there isn't any mud.

He stays in the shower long enough for his fingers and toes to turn pruney, shivering though the water has been charmed to stay hot.

He spends the rest of the day and half the evening lurking in odd, half-forgotten corners of the castle, avoiding Remus, avoiding James. He'd avoid Peter too if he thought it necessary, but Peter has been spending the last two weeks mooning over a Ravenclaw who'd occasionally helped him with Astronomy homework. Peter is likely in the library, as he has been the whole of the previous fortnight, so Sirius doesn't go there. And anyway, Remus treats the library as a second home, so that's _twice_ as much reason to avoid it.

Instead he wanders miserably along dusty, dimly lit hallways, ignoring the paintings that greet him as though he's the first to walk those paths in an age. He's not, of course – he can't be – but it's unnerving, the over-eager greetings and effusive welcomes. Eventually he realizes that no one is looking for him anyway, for they could have easily found him using the Map, and the realization just solidifies something he's been afraid to admit.

Remus hates him.

He sneaks back into the empty Gryffindor dorm during supper, slinking in behind his own bedcurtains and drawing them shut. Everything's changed now, between him and Remus, and probably between him and James. Likely Remus has gone to James, gone and asked him questions like _did you know_ and _why me _and _what are we going to do with him._

These are the kind of questions that are bound to have answers that Sirius doesn't want to hear.

It's the noisy tromp of footsteps that wakes him, the brash sound of boys laughing and stomping their way into the dorm. But he doesn't want to hear them, hear _him_, hear the smile in _his_ voice as he jokes with James.

Sirius pulls the pillows over his head, shutting out the world, and eventually manages to drift back into restless sleep.

He doesn't know how long he's been asleep when he wakes for the second time, but it feels like hours have passed. The dorm is silent, and the only sounds he can hear are a faint, whistling snore from Peter's corner of the room and an incoherent mumble from James'. There's no sound from Remus' bed, but that's hardly unusual, and anyway that's the last thing Sirius needs to hear right now when he's just woken from a disjointed dream of slick mud and fevered kisses. He's hard from the memory of it, one hand sneaking down to stroke along his length.

Here, at least, he doesn't have to worry what his friends (and are they still even his friends? Sirius wonders) might think. Here he can stroke and pull and squeeze and it doesn't matter that he's thinking of Remus, of the way his mouth curves when he smiles, of the way Remus' thighs had felt clamped around him, taut and trembling.

When a warm, sure hand wraps around his own, Sirius nearly screams aloud.

"Shh," Remus whispers. "It's only me."

"What-" Sirius gasps. His heart is thudding painfully against his ribs, and he hopes desperately that he hasn't spoken Remus' name out loud in the last few minutes.

"I said shh," Remus says, and leans down to replace his hand with his mouth.

If it weren't for the fact that he's certain that he's wide awake, Sirius would have believed he was still dreaming. But his eyes are open, staring glassily into the darkness as his hips thrust up into that warm, wet mouth, bucking hard against that ruthless, dragging tongue. His hands are clenched around fistfuls of sweat-damp sheet, breath coming in short hard gasps as that mouth, that gorgeous relentless mouth, encircles him, licking, sucking, and then small sharp teeth nipping lightly. And oh, it's the teeth that undo him, it's the slight nipping followed by the swirling caress of tongue that undoes him, a strangled cry escaping as he arches right off the bed. It feels like he's coming forever, his eyelids fluttering closed as he spirals down, down…

"Better, yeah?" Remus asks, though Sirius' only answer is a contented mumble and sigh.

He wakes the next morning with a cramp in his shoulder from where Remus has been sleeping on it. In fact, Remus is still there, curled against Sirius' side, one arm flung protectively across Sirius' chest.

For a moment he thinks he might still be dreaming, but he can hear James and Peter chattering away (and he never dreams about them if he can possibly help it), and his foot is cold where it's sticking out from under the blanket, and he _really_ has to piss. So when Remus wakes a minute later, stretching and yawning sleepily, and affectionately calls Sirius a stupid twat for avoiding him all the previous afternoon – _that's_ when Sirius thinks everything might be all right after all.

There is a muffled thump as the door to the dorm bangs closed, cutting off James' and Peter's voices. The room is suddenly very quiet.

Squirming out from under Remus, Sirius says, "Back in a minute."

"Where're you off to?" Remus asks, propping himself up on one elbow.

"Just the loo." Sirius swings his legs over the edge of the bed, then looks back uncertainly over his shoulder at Remus. "Will you be here when I get back?"

Remus nods, and his eyes light up again with that strange gleam. "I'll be here," he says quietly. "I'll be here til you throw me out."

"Be here a bloody long time, then," Sirius says pertly, ducking as Remus aims a swat at his bare arse.

As he crosses the room – and though he'd rather stay ensconced in the warmth of that bed, he's absolutely dying for a piss now – he hears Remus call after him.

"Sirius!"

He glances back and Remus is lying flat across the bed on his stomach, grinning cheekily at him with the bedcurtains flung open wide.

"Sirius, what d'you think about a game of tug-of-war later down by the Forest? Just you and me?"

A grin slowly spreads across Sirius' face. "Yeah," he says, and that's when he _really _knows things are going to be just fine. "I think I'd like that."


End file.
